It's Always Been There
by Croyez
Summary: Hermione realizes who she's loved all along... One Shot, HHr, Post HBP


Disclaimer: Don't own anything. If I did, canon would be _so_ much more different. 

Author's Note: Well, I had to get this out of my system. First thing I've written since HBP. I've done better stuff, but hey, I have to re-start somewhere.

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**_It's Always Been There_**

It was a cold day. The Hogwarts Grounds were coated in a sheet of pale snow, while the lake's surface was a thin sheet of ice. No one in their right mind would be outside on such a day, when there were warm fires in the common rooms and delicious meals being served in the Great Hall.

And yet, there was a figure wading through the snow towards a very large tree that sat at the edge of the lake. The person wore their Hogwarts robes over a very thick sweater, and long, warm pants. They wore wool mittens on their hands, and a knit scarf around their neck. A hat sat on top of their head, unable to hide the frizzy mass of brown hair that fell to the person's shoulders.

Hermione Jane Granger had a very different idea of herself now, and it certainly couldn't be described as 'in her right mind'. After sixth year, and this term, she almost felt as if she didn't know herself at all. It was as if something was taking over her, and her old self was too weak to keep fighting on. She heard the things coming out of her mouth, saw herself doing all those things, and although at that moment they seemed perfectly rational, later she came to find they were completely and utterly ridiculous.

She finally reached the tree, and plopped down beneath it, folding her legs beneath her. She buried her hand in her pocket for a moment, and it resurfaced with a jar and her wand. She placed the jar on the snow before her, pointed her wand to the inside, and muttered a charm. She smiled, watching as the blue flames erupted inside the jar, and pocketed her wand. Next, she pulled out a quill, and a small, leather-bound book.

Her journal.

She had taken to writing in a journal during her spare time during the summer, and found the habit hard to let go of. It helped her sort out her thoughts better, and it was relaxing.

But today she had not come to it for relaxation, but for answers. Today, she sat under that tree, hoping that this journal would help her now, as it had on other times. Today, she lowered her quill to the blank page with a feeling of mingled foreboding and determination, because she knew that when she finished writing, she would know what to do.

_Saturday, December 20th, 1997_

_This is just not working._

_I know it isn't. We've been like this for a year now, and if anything, we seem to be stuck where we began._

_And it's not just Ron and I. Look at Harry and Ginny—they've barely spoken to each other since she found out he's been keeping things from her. I was shocked myself; I thought Harry trusted her enough to tell her the things he told us. _

_I guess not._

He didn't even say why. He just took her insults and accusations, silent. Maybe because he thought she was right, and that he deserved it. Or maybe because he had deeper reasons for what he didn't say to her. He never told her about the prophecy, or the Horcruxes. Never did he say why we disappeared from the school from time to time. Not once, did he tell her what he saw in the Pensieve during the lessons with Dumbledore.

_Later, I found him sitting alone in the Common Room, just looking at the fire. I tried talking to him about it all, but he wouldn't say anything. He didn't even look at me. He just kept staring at the flames, listening quietly to me as I talked. I don't think he even noticed me crying._

_And as I went back up to my dormitory, I realized things can't keep going on like this. Harry and Ginny clearly have some issues between them, and Ron and I…well, we're still at the place where we begun. None of us has actually made anything to 'set things in motion'. I'm even beginning to doubt ever feeling something more for him. I still care for him—he's one of my best friends—but honestly, can I fancy someone with whom I argue about the silliest things? I think the only thing we firmly agree on is Harry, and even then we see differently at some points. And after last year…everything we did to hurt each other…I just wonder whether we really are 'meant for each other'. _

_I guess the root of the problem between Ron and I, is that we're simply too different. We can be friends like that, but a relationship is out of the question. We look for very different things in a romance; things that we can't give each other. _

_Sometimes, when I look at him, my mind wanders to Harry instead. I think about how Harry and I have always sort of, understood each other better, and how we hardly ever argue…how we know each other so well…I just wonder why Ron and I don't have that. Could we ever have that? When I'm around Harry, I don't feel like Hermione Granger, the stupid bookworm no one cares about. I feel special…accepted. He doesn't criticize me, and he doesn't push me into being someone I'm not. He just likes me the way I am, and appreciates me in a way Ron just…doesn't. _

_Does this mean I have feelings for Harry? I've been thinking about that for such a long time now, I've come to accept that as a likely possibility. Maybe I never fancied Ron like that…maybe I was wrong. I always thought, or just sort of felt, like Harry had much more to worry about, and wouldn't have time for silly love affairs. I convinced myself, somehow, that I was making the right choice._

_But now, nothing makes sense. Everything I had come to understand and accept as right or true is completely upside down. I wish I knew…but at the same time, the truth frightens me—_

"Hermione?"

His voice rang through the silence. Hermione jumped, closing her journal hastily and accidentally splattering ink all over her lap. She turned her head to look up at him, but before she could say anything, Harry spoke again.

"Are you mad? It's freezing out here! What are you doing?"

He had a cloak wrapped firmly around himself, and he was looking down at her with a look of mingled amusement and incredulousness. Hermione cast her eyes around, fully expecting to see Ron's figure sprinting towards her as well, but found nothing. Turning her eyes back at Harry, she digested the surprise that this was. He hadn't spoken to her in days, not since he and Ginny had had that row, and yet here he was.

A frown momentarily obscured her face, before she composed herself and said, rather coolly, "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Harry repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. I'm just thinking."

Harry did not seem able to find a response to that. He looked rather uncomfortable, as if he didn't know what he was supposed to do now that he was here and knew what she was up to. Feeling a surge of pity for him—he _had_ come for her, after all—she smiled up at him, "Well, sit down, Harry," she said, chuckling, "It's just me."

He hesitated for a second, before smiling and walking over to her. He sat down beside her, and after a small pause, asked, "Why here?"

"Sorry?"

"Why did you come all the way down here to think? And with this _cold_," he added, pulling the cloak around him tighter and shaking his head.

Hermione looked at the frozen lake, smiling slightly, "I like it. It's quiet, and private. Hardly anyone will come interrupt me here."

"Looks like you were wrong there," Harry said, grinning.

"You're not an interruption, Harry. You know I don't mind."

There was a long silence after that, with them staring at the surroundings, both immersed in their thoughts. Hermione's mind was buzzing with so many questions…so many things she wanted to ask him, but couldn't bring herself to. She wanted to know so many things…

"Ginny and I…we broke up," he said suddenly, still staring at the snow.

"Oh, Harry…" Hermione whispered, turning to face him, "No. You can't be serious—"

Harry shook his head, "Come on, Hermione. You saw it coming, too. Everyone did. It was just a matter of time. After she found out about all that, well…"

Hermione hesitated, then—

"Why didn't you ever tell her any of those things, Harry?"

"I-I don't know," Harry said, "I don't know how to explain it. She made it clear, though. When we broke up. She knew why." Hermione waited patiently as he paused, taking in a small breath, "I don't think I ever trusted her. Not like you and Ron. I fancied her, somehow, but I never really felt as if the time to tell her was right.

I did a lot of thinking these past few days, and I realized that I…I never loved her. I just fancied her…but I didn't love her. I thought I did, but after we got back together when term started, I felt something different. I didn't feel the same way around her anymore. I guess that's why I never told her..."

Hermione nodded, "But why did you let things get so carried away?" she asked softly, frowning.

"I didn't realize anything until our row the other day. I was confused. I _thought_ I loved her, and I didn't know why things felt different until the other day."

Hermione looked at him uncertainly, before wrapping her arms around him in a hug. As she did so, she noted just how long it had been since she and Harry had talked like this, and just how long it had been since she had hugged him. She felt ashamed as she thought that she had let their friendship suffer so much, to the point that their comfort around each other was almost lost. Everything was hesitant, careful.

What had happened to them? What had caused this horrible gap between them?

"Do you know why I felt something different when she and I got back together?" Harry asked quietly, wrapping his arms around her as well. Her head was on his chest, and she could feel his warmth—however vague it was in the cold—and hear the beats of his heart. She closed her ayes, sighing, willing the tears away. She barely registered what he said before shaking her head. He didn't seem to have noticed her sudden change of mood. Another sign that they were moving farther away from each other.

But how…how could she stop it? How could she bring him back?

"I fell in love with someone else."

In her shock, Hermione bit her tongue rather painfully. She winced momentarily, before frowning and pulling away from him, "What? But who? You were only with Ron and I during the summer!"

Harry stared at her. Slowly, she felt her brain fully processing the information, connecting it with her earlier suspicions…

_What!_

Harry gave her a fleeting smile, as if he knew that she had caught on now. Slowly, he began to come to his feet, brushing snow off his cloak, and walking away.

"_W_-_what_?" Hermione sputtered, "Where are you going?"

Harry turned to face her, grinning, "Inside. It's cold. You coming?"

Hermione sat, watching him with an incredulous look on her face. He couldn't be serious. He had just told her—however indirectly—that he had fallen in love with her, and he was just beckoning her to the castle like nothing had happened? Harry Potter clearly didn't know how this threw off all her thoughts. This added yet another question to her already overflowing list, another doubt.

But she supposed she understood where he was going with this. Maybe he wanted to give her time to sort out her own thoughts? That would certainly be helpful. And, she supposed, they shouldn't rush into things. Their friendship still needed to be mended, before anything else could happen between them.

So she stood up, smiling, ready to walk towards him, until—

"Err, Hermione? Is that ink?"

She looked down, and sure enough, a great blotch of ink was splattered all over her lap. She felt herself flushing for a moment, before she whipped out her wand and _Scourgified_ the mess. Wordlessly, she grabbed the journal from the snow, stuffed it inside her robes, and walked straight past Harry in the direction of the castle, her head held high, as if daring him to laugh.

"Should I ask what that book was?" Harry asked tentatively, catching up with her.

"Should I ask you who you fell in love with?"

Silence.

Hermione smiled at him, holding out her hand, "Come on, then. It _is_ rather chilly." He took her hand, grinning, and they made their way to the castle.

And as they walked into the Entrance Hall, Hermione smiled yet again, thinking that at least, one question had been answered today.

At least she knew with whom she had fallen in love with. And she knew that they weren't so far away after all. They weren't now, anyway. Already, she was starting to feel normal around him, like it had always been.

And she knew…she knew she loved him. It was so clear now. She couldn't believe she hadn't seen it before…

It had always been there, right from the start.

-- FIN


End file.
